


Cohesion

by veselko



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Abuse, Additional Tags to Be Added, F/M, Faint Mentions of Chihaya Mifune, Gen, Illegal Activities, Implied abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mentions of the Full Cast, NPCs - Freeform, Nameless Character - Freeform, Plothole Fill, Reader-Insert, Yakuza References, endgame spoilers, minimal spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-05 19:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11020413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veselko/pseuds/veselko
Summary: Some ties aren't strong, but even the thinnest papers stacked together cannot be ripped. This is how far the belief in the Phantom Thieves go. How even passing relationships not defined by the Major Arcana hold an effect, a power that ripples across reality. This is how the Phantom Thieves won against a God.Or: how the Phantom Thieves affected people without knowing they did. A more in-depth analysis of the result of their actions.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You're a freelance writer with some shady connections to make additional money. It's by chance that you found yourself discovering the identity of a Phantom Thief.
> 
> Originally, I wasn't going to add Akira in there...but he's strong-armed his way into the story. It was just going to be a SHORT one-shot too. And then it turned into THIS. (*H*) This is what I get when I go with the flow.
> 
> Also, I just use "you" because I don't want to make up a name. Hehe.

You were what people called an "opportunist."

After graduating high school, you didn't bother with college. You didn't see the point. Disregarding your parents wishes and your extended family's disapproval, you became a freelance writer.

You work whenever you wanted, with whatever topic you wanted.

Of course, finding work depended on your online reputation. Some days, it was just impossible to land a gig. Other times, you were scrabbling to finish by deadlines by the skin of your teeth.

Today was one of those free days, where there was absolutely no work for you to do, no bills waiting to be paid, no friendly interaction required, and no responsibilities for the next two months or so. These times were rare, and for once, you were at a loss as to what to do.

In the end, you settled with a book to pass the time.

You were barely finishing up the first chapter of The Great Thief when your cell started to ring.

**IM: Hey. I've got some goods.**  
**IM: You free to come over and check?**

You frowned.

Iwai Munehisa hadn't contacted you in a while. The two of you met under some shady conditions (conditions that you were able to escape, but Iwai could barely), but he was a good...not-friend. An acquaintance. He was trying to be a respectable business man now, and you occasionally helped with a few well-placed blogs about his Airsoft shop.

**You: I'll be right over.**

In exchange, he helped you make some easy money in addition to your freelancing. There was no way you were going to turn down one of these opportunities.

.

.

.

The door chimed your arrival, and Iwai looked up with a grim smile.

"Yo. That was fast," he commented offhandedly.

"It was a day off," you replied, just as bland, if not a bit bitterly Sure, you didn't know how to spend your free time, but that didn't mean you didn't appreciate it. "So what's this I hear about goods?"

"Way to make it sound so suspicious," Iwai rolled his eyes, but got up from his chair and moved to the back room. You were familiar enough with the place to follow him.

"Well of course. Even with context, the things you do are suspicious," you snorted in response.

The back room was cramped, but not in a stuffy way. You lingered at the doorway as Iwai took out a box hidden behind a messy worktable. You moved closer when he opened the top.

Inside were various knick knacks, easily dismissed upon first glance. A closer look showed that these bits and bobs were more than just that. You picked up one particular chunky rock, and brushed away the dirt on top.

A vicious red gleam shone in the dull light of the back room, and when you moved it, it sparkled like crystallized blood.

"This is...real," you breathed out, shock clear on your face. It didn't last though as your brain went into overdrive. Questions ran rampant, such as the validity of whether it was genuine or not, and what to do if it was. "Too cold to be plastic, too heavy to be counterfeit. I just have to brush it up a bit and put it in a fancy box, pass it off as a long forgotten heirloom or something before pawning it off. If I had to guess, it's garnet. Not as valuable as rubies, but easily sold."

"And if turns out to be fake?" Iwai muttered.

"Doubting your supplier?" you smirked back. "I could pass it off as something of value, especially since this thing weighs like a paper weight. How much did you pay for all this though? I'll need a bottom price so I can at least net you back what you spent on it."

"81,000 yen."

You hummed absentmindedly as you inspected the other materials. If the red stone really did turn out to be garnet, that was already around 20,000 yen. You knew some cuts of gemstones could range from 100,000 yen to 200,000 yen, but it didn't need to be a brilliant cut. The color was vibrant enough to earn value, if not the size.

Either the supplier was an idiot, or they really wanted to get these goods off of their hands.

You eagerly dove your hands into the box, and found similar stones. Onyx and pearls were the most prevalent. You weren't sure about the solid stones, but the pearls you could definitely tell were real. Other objects included little cases of gold dust—and it was too finely grounded to be anything but gold dust—and even the rare piece of metal you could easily identify as silver from it's raw, white, sheen.

"Damn," you whistled under your breath. "What store did you rob? They look like trash but I could easily get you more than 80,000 yen for this. I'll do 70/30 like usual. It'll take a while to strike the deals though."

"For heaven's sake, stop making it sound like some underhanded drug deal," Iwai rolled his eyes.

"But Iwai, I thought gangster-speak would make understanding my exquisite lingo better!" you teased. You ignored his unimpressed look. "Anyways, I can easily say I can pay you back the 81,000 yen in a month. I might even have to contact some friends to help sell these if you want the money faster."

"Just do it at your own pace," Iwai said. "I know you won't cheat me."

You ignored his vicious grin as you continued to dig through the box.

"Your yakuza connections won't cheat you either I bet," you retorted.

"You know I'm trying to avoid them," he sighed.

"Living an honest life and all that crap yeah?" you rolled your eyes. As much as Iwai said he washed his hands of his old connections, you still see them lingering in some parts. The real, actual, not-a-model gun hidden beneath the counter with a few newspaper clippings, the way he wore a baggy jacket to hide the knife in the back pocket...subtle things that no one would notice if he didn't want them to.

As it is, the business you were helping him with was barely legal. There must be some laws against selling suspiciously-acquired gemstones back into the economy without the government noticing.

Before it could go into dangerous territory, you changed the subject of the conversation.

"I'm curious though. Where DID you get all this? I mean, if it was just half the box, I'd understand. You are a hoarder after all."

"A collector," Iwai corrected you.

"But this is a lot to 'collect' since the last time you had me sell all those pepper sprays," you continued. Pepper sprays you could understand. It's a weapon after all, and what more explanation do you need about weapons and an ex-yakuza member? Gemstones and net-worth gold on the other hand...

It was as if Iwai made another shady connection with a full-time robber or something.

"You made a pretty penny from all those pepper sprays though," Iwai pointed out.

"Not the point," you crossed your arms, knowing he was trying to change the subject. "Did you get yourself stuck in knee-deep shit again?"

Iwai sighed.

"Look, I know I can trust you because if you spilled the beans, you'd get in trouble too. You're an accomplice now," Iwai said, and you knew the undertone. He was threatening you, in a rather subtle and friendly-like way. "But I trust this person. As much as I can without him being yakuza anyway."

"He's a civvie?!" you hissed.

"I wouldn't call him a civilian. He's quite the gun enthusiast," Iwai smirked. It quickly melted away into a more serious expression. "I'm not joking around here. He's a good kid, so don't go making trouble and snoopin' around."

"He's a KID?!"

"That's not the point!"

"Then what IS the point, Iwai Munehisa?!"

RING!

The both of you grew quiet. Iwai coughed and exited the back room to greet his new customer. You stayed, lingering in the doorway, body leaning against the frame with your arms crossed. You looked relaxed, but you really, really weren't.

You knew that when the customer left, Iwai would hand you the box and tell you to get out in what he would consider to be a friendly manner. (Telling you to get "outta here," doesn't actually make it friendly in your perspective, but to each their own.)

"This isn't the end," you huffed to yourself, hoping your eyes could glare a hole into your not-friend-acquaintance.

.

.

.

As promised, you came back with 81,000 yen and a bit more after a month. You wore a casual coat that didn't seem as if it had deep pockets, but it did. You hid the envelope of money, along with a paper accounting all the sold products, and some of the estimated products that hadn't been sold yet.

When you entered the store, it wasn't Iwai that greeted you. It was a boy with scraggly hair and thick glasses. He nodded cordially, and you gave a slight smile back.

"Is Iwai in?"

He nods again, "he'll be out in a few."

"Ah. So he hired a part-timer hmm?" you pried, making some small talk. The boy looked looked up neutrally. You continued, undeterred. "Last I heard, he wouldn't hire help on the pain of death. He's growing mellow for an old man."

"If he wasn't so mellow, he'd catch you trying to interrogate me," the boy shot back.

"Oh, you could tell," you raised an impressed eyebrow, leaning over the glass counter. "I guess he wouldn't hire someone who didn't have some guts or perception, so it's understandable."

"You want to ask me something," the boy said it rather plainly. In a way, you could hear the 'spit it out' under his tone of voice.

"Well, if you're offering an answer. So. Why are you working here, of all places? A student like you will no doubt get a good part-time at maybe 777 or the Beef Bowl place. They're always busy and in need of help," you offered.

"What makes you think I'm not already working there?" the boy smirked.

You gave him a droll look.

"He pays well," was all the answer he gave.

"All you ever care about is the money," Iwai sighed, interrupting your little interrogation.

"Was that directed at me, or him?" you asked with a little grin, making sure not to appear startled. You were sure your heart jumped a little though.

"Both of you. So? What's up?"

You pulled out the envelope and handed it over with no intention of hiding it at all, waving it in front of his face.

"There's the base price plus some more, as well as the invoice, and a list of the things I haven't popped off to the market yet. I'll get it done by next month, for sure," you answered, not caring to rattle off all the numbers.

"Couldn't you just transfer it to my account or something?" Iwai sighed.

"And what? Look like an idiot throwing away money the minute I get it on my credit scores? Hell no. It's cash all the way," you huffed. There were just too many zeroes to write on a bank book. It wasn't criminally long, but it was longer than you cared to write. The invoice and inventory itself was already a pain in the ass.

Between the banter, you saw that the boy was giving Iwai a look. A rather peculiar look. Iwai too notice too.

"W-what?"

"You're not going back to being shady, are you?" the part-timer asked with a smirk, pushing his glasses back up in a smug manner.

"That's what I asked him last time!" you chimed in with a similar smirk.

"You two..." Iwai shook his head. "Kid, the shadiest thing I've been doing is accepting what you're selling me."

"Wait, he's the one that's handing over all those questionable gems?" you looked bewildered, turning wildly to the kid. "What have you been doing, digging beaches for treasure?!"

"Why is it you compare me to robbing a store, and he's playing in sand?" Iwai groaned.

"Look at yourself. Look at him," you gestured, urging Iwai to compare. You heaved a sigh. "Anyways...I want to apologize. I suppose I overreacted, thought you didn't know being an honest business owner meant not dragging civilians or kids into your dark ways."

"Dark...ways?" Iwai looked at you as if you were crazy. You refrained from saying 'yakuza.' "Well whatever. It's fine."

"He hardly seems like a civilian anyhow. He wasn't flustered when I questioned him," you added.

"If anything, you're the most 'civilian' out of the three of us," Iwai countered.

"I'm an opportunist. That's far from civilian," you scoffed. "So kid, was the treasure a one-time thing, or is it reccurring?"

Iwai hissed your name under his breath in warning.

"Hey, I deserve to know. I have to go through the trouble of selling it into legal markets," you replied to his warning.

"It's a recurring thing," the boy waved off. "Thanks for your hard work."

Once again, you were stunned how the boy just answered you so honestly—and that wasn't a bad thing. It's just whenever you questioned anyone, whether it was to write them a good review about their store, or simply to inquire about their life, they clam up or become rather rude about it.

"Well. I guess you can depend on me," you shook your head. "See you next month, Iwai. Bye kid."

.

.

.

It was quite a while later when someone asked you to write a blog about the Phantom Thieves, and what you thought about them. You contemplated your thoughts deeply, because something as controversial as gentlemen thieves and the "justice" that revolved around them could affect your reputation.

You tended to stay away from opinionated pieces, and that only made it an article that would affect your reputation even more. You had to choose your words carefully, but...

It was so easy to just let your fingers dance across the keyboard with a will of their own.

In the end, you decided to write what you imagined the Phantom Thieves to be. Nothing about justice, nothing about right or wrong. You could go on and on about the relativity of opinions, but that would only bore your readers.

No, you wrote how you think the Phantom Thieves were people of glory. Their leader no doubt had to be someone cocky and confident, like Arsene Lupin, but someone polite, like D. B. Cooper. Sophistication, class, strength, and charm. Unfaltering, unshakable, and unmistakably untouchable.

For some reason, you thought of the boy working part-time at Iwai's shop. He certainly easily fit the bill. In the few words he spoke, he showed confidence, and the charm seemed to come naturally with his disheveled hair and thick frames. There was just something about him that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

In fact, he fit too well. Especially with all the treasure he procured for you.

But...it couldn't be, right?

Haha. Nah. Of course not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a Mementos Request that we don't see.
> 
> NPC found in Fortune Confidant storyline: Uchimura Yuya, a target of the Phantom Thieves, has a few words for them in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: please check the tags on the story again before reading, thank you!
> 
> I was listening to "Good News" by Ocean Park Standoff while writing this, and it gave me enough motivation to pull through, even if it wasn't really a Persona fic with any important characters. The lyrics were kind of distracting though, so the chapter may seem a bit choppy and chaotic.

_"Yuya?"_

_"What is it babe?"_

_"What do you think about marriage?"_

_"Marriage huh? We've only been together for a few months, and now you're asking for a proposal?" he asked cheekily. She slapped his arm lightly with a pout._

_"I'm not kidding! I really do like you, and I want to spend my life with you," she had said._

_"I do too babe. I'm serious about this relationship."_

_"Really?" she had smiled so brightly._

_"Yeah."_

_"Do you want a big wedding, or a small one?" she seemed eager to start planning._

_"How many people do you want to invite?" he had asked considerately._

_"Our parents, of course. Some friends...do you think I should invite our business associates too?"_

_"They'd be offended if you didn't," he had replied. In his mind, he calculated the expenses. The wedding halls were always busy in Tokyo. A reservation, especially a big one, would cost half a fortune. There was also a matter of food, decorations, and favors. He had yet to buy her a ring too..._

_"You're right. There's so much to do!" she sighed, but happily as she leaned against him. "We have to plan what day we want it on...oh, I get to choose the color schemes, right?"_

_He squashed down the feeling of panic and responsibility rising from the bottom of his stomach, and kissed her soundly on the mouth, "whatever you want babe."_

.

.

.

Uchimura Yuya was a good man, once upon a time.

He likes to think that if he's no longer a good man, it was because society—and his significant other—changed him for the worse.

He remembers, faintly, that he used to be happy with her. He loved the way she reclined on the sofa, her long hair streaming past her shoulders and gleaming healthily against the shiny leather seats. That was before he had her cut her hair and sell it.

They were just short, choppy locks now, dull and thistle-like.

Her wardrobe suffered him too. Soft cotton and shiny silk dresses were traded for second hand baseball tees and worn jeans. She still had a formal suit and skirt, but even those were no longer as pristine.

Her soft hands were no longer soft. Calluses, ugly and yellow grew on the pads of her fingertips. Sometimes, he sees her clenching them—not in anger because he's yelling at her, but more because she was trying to relieve pain as he verbally abused her.

Another thing that was a long remnant of the past was his "I love you"s.

On days where she worked late and he nursed a lukewarm shot of whiskey before his work-worn fingers, he wondered if he still did.

In the morning, when alcohol no longer clouded his mind, he barely says 'good morning' to her.

To think that he had once wanted to marry her. Today, he could barely stay in the same room.

When did things change so drastically? They had such a bright future...

Perhaps it was the marriage talk. He had been intimidated, sure, but he was also confident that he could've made it work. Where did he go wrong? Was it because he saw all those numbers, all that yen, and grew to resent the expectations put upon him?

She had been so hopeful that he could make her dream come true. To make her a happy woman.

Her parents approved, said he was an upstanding man. Dad patted him on the back, mom gave him a kiss on the cheek, teary smile on her face. They said he was admirable.

It felt nice to be looked like he was important, like he mattered.

But then...saying that he would do it, and actually doing it were two different things.

Getting the money was hard.

His job was hard. Every day, he came home tired. He couldn't hang out with his friends anymore, but he needed the money. He was so close to being able to buy a ring, he knew he just had to do a little more. 

One day, his buddy invited him out. Told him that he needed to relax, so he did.

They went to a casino.

He remembered hitting a jackpot, saw the large amount earned faster than working for endless, tiring days.

The first thing he did was sneak out and secretly buy that ring—it fit her so well. A soft cut gem at the center, surrounded by diamond sparkles around the band. 

Just like that, his long, toiling months and that lucky—miraculous—jackpot money were all gone.

He didn't really feel anything back then, maybe just a bit lighter knowing one item was checked off of his shopping list. He keeps the ring hidden, always on his person. He had to wait for the right moment...

Too bad the right moment never came.

He continued to work, but sometimes still visited the casino. It was just so easy to win money within a blink of an eye instead of working for months, and still only get the meager amount barely enough to accomplish her dream.

It was just as easy to lose it too.

He should've known that casinos were dirty places that drained you of all you had, but he was stupid. Even after losing one whole paycheck, he still kept going back, kept hoping another miracle would come his way. He started coming late to work due to the all-nighters pulled in front of poker tables, and his boss fired him.

He asked her for money.

She gave him her savings.

He gambled all that away too.

She gave him her paychecks.

He kept losing.

She gave him her life...

It wasn't enough.

It seemed that the past years, his life was going through a downward spiral, and he was pulling his girlfriend along with him.

He wondered why he was thinking about all this...

.

.

.

_He remembered he was sixteen and stupid._

_He had just seen the most beautiful girl of his life. Long brown hair, honey brown eyes, petal pink lips in a soft, demure smile, and—_

_She looked at him, and he was just lost._

_"Will you be my girlfriend?"_

_"Yes!" she said, teary eyes as if she had accepted a marriage proposal._

.

.

.

She was tired. She had just visited the fortune teller in Shinjuku again, but she didn't buy another Holy Stone.

She knew what that high school boy was trying to tell her, even if he didn't say it aloud. The Holy Stone was a scam.

Even the fortune teller looked guilty in trying to sell her another one.

She knew, she KNEW, deep down, Yuya was no longer the loving boy she first met. She knew that she should've broke up with him the minute he asked for her money, but how could she? When she asked for something, he always delivered, and she asked for marriage. If she couldn't handle this...

Well, truth was, she couldn't. She was trying though.

She opened the door to their one room apartment complex. The door creaked slowly, and she made sure her steps were quiet before taking off her shoes.

"Babe?"

She flinched. How long was it that he spoke to her that softly? His tone was usually more sly, more questioning for money, more, more, more—

"Babe, is that you?"

His head popped in front of her vision, and she startled. Taking a step back, her foot caught onto her shoes and she was falling—

His arms wrapped around her body, pulling her close to his chest. Her face was buried near his collarbone, and she could smell the faint scent of whiskey. He wasn't drinking it, or it would be a lot heavier. No, he was sober. For once, he was sober.

She felt warm tears gather in her eyes.

She couldn't stop them from falling.

She couldn't stop the sobs from spilling out of her mouth.

"Shh, shh," he whispered in her ear. "It's okay."

She felt him bury his face into her neck, and it was a bit wet...

Was he crying too?

.

.

.

The morning was a new one.

They both felt disgusting, but they felt happy too. Curled in bed in their clothes from yesterday, they had forgone a shower, but they were content for the first time in years. He was playing with the ends of her hair, she was listening to the steady beating of his heart. His fingers brushed her bruises softly, she closed her eyes and relaxed.

"I'm sorry," he said, for the nth time since she came home.

"I love you," she wasn't afraid of saying anymore, since he hugged her so close.

"I'll go searching for a job tomorrow. We'll get out of this, together," he whispered.

"Okay," she replied with a smile, just a fraction of the beauty she used to have, but to him, it could've been the sunshine that broke through their shabby apartment window.

"I won't go to the casino anymore. No more depending on a miracle," he said to reassure her, but it was more of a promise to himself. She could hear the determination in his voice.

He shifted slightly, and she was curious as to what he was doing. Pulling her head up, she saw him reach into his pockets—

A silver ring gleamed in the morning light.

Tears came to her eyes.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes!"

They enjoyed the rest of that morning, lazing in bed.

.

.

.

It was hard getting a job back in society when you've been an addictive no-good gambler for the better part of your prime years. Yuya did the best he could though, and got a shift at an office.

His friends congratulated him, some even offering to slap him in the face if he ended back up in the ditches. He expected them to keep their promises.

"It seems like you're a completely different person now," one of them said.

"You think it's the Phantom Thieves?"

Yuya laughed. If it was them, he was grateful. He was in a much better place now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavenza ponders about her existence, and that of her ex-charge. Even after winning the war of the century, Tricksters will always be Tricksters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: More tags have been added, but nothing trigger-worthy. Still, check it please!
> 
> I don't know how well I did with Igor, or if I misunderstood the workings of the Velvet Room. I tried thinking of something else to tie off the fic, but only this idea seemed to fit. Persona 5 has been my only Persona game so far, and I don't think I will play any of the others because my graphics-tastes has been spoiled. Still, I hope any misconceptions didn't ruin the enjoyment of the story!

Lavenza was a fully functional person, and she doesn't need your worry, thank you very much.

However, if Igor asked, she would hesitantly admit that yes, she was still a bit disoriented from having her existence split into two by a false, malevolent god. In the back of her mind, "Caroline" still made rude remarks while "Justine" chastises her for the very thought of being too harsh.

For over a year—or was it three?—she lived with two different minds. The assimilation of those memories weren't hard per say, because Caroline and Justine experienced the same days and same events for most of the time, but they most certainly weren't easy when it came to the Trickster.

When the Holy Grail still held a tight influence on the "game," Caroline would observe the Trickster in the real world. She would see him interacting with those of his Arcana like she had suggested—commanded really—but also talked with those who had nothing to do with cultivating bonds, nothing to do with increasing his powers. "Caroline" was confused, and when she was confused, she tended to speak a bit too harshly, thus her treatment of him in the Velvet Room.

Lavenza saw his efforts for what they truly were, and they were lionhearted, honest campaigns to make the world a better place, no matter how small or how big the target in the Metaverse was. It took a while to process, and it wasn't until the defeat of Yaldabaoth that she had realized it.

Justine on the other hand, spent time observing the Trickster from afar in the Metaverse. He acted much, much more differently once he donned his mask, and that's where her memories came into conflict with one another.

Was the Trickster someone kind and attentive, relentless in his pursuit of doing what was right and just—as seen through Caroline—or was he a theatrical one-man show with a thousand tricks up his sleeves, a thousand more knives in his belt, and a tongue of silver—as seen by Justine?

Caroline's intense opinion easily overshadowed Justine's doubt, but the doubt was there, uncomfortably there.

Lavenza though, knew the answer was very obvious. 

He was both.

Lavenza could understand it, but she couldn't _see_ it. The two images mixed like water and oil.

"Master," Lavenza said one day, words stuck in her throat. She wasn't sure what she was going to try and ask, but she was damn well going to try.

"What troubles you?"

"I am having...difficulty coming to terms with my memories," she said honestly, but she couldn't meet his eyes. She knew it wasn't her fault that her cognition was not clear, but it was not something she could easily admit when her many siblings have performed the task with more finesse.

"It is, perhaps, in regards to the Trickster, am I correct?"

Lavenza nodded.

"I have met many interesting humans, and none more so than the Wild Cards. Did you know that they are all the same?"

Lavenza could only stare incomprehensibly. "The same...?"

"Unthinkable, is it? You must suppose your Trickster was one of a kind, and that too, is true," Igor almost seemed to laugh. "Each Wild Card has a single quality that makes them as they are. The two faces of both order and chaos are required to wield the power that they do. Whether it coexists within them, or wars within them, is the difference."

"Are you saying..."

"They are duplicitous, yes, but they are still the same person, and not necessarily a bad thing. Perhaps that is the answer you are searching for."

Duplicitous. Two-faced...

"And if that is not enough to settle your mind, perhaps you should take a walk outside the Velvet Room. Surely you will find your answer there."

.

.

.

She could not bring herself to approach the Trickster, as their paths would no longer cross in the foreseeable future, but she could still observe. Even after the defeat of the world's greatest foe, the Trickster continued to do what he did best.

"Hey...Kurusu."

"Ah...you are..." he cleared his throat. "Is there something you needed?"

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

"P-pardon?" the Trickster stuttered, and Lavenza knew it was a rarity. He often seemed very unflappable. 

"I would like to apologize, Kurusu," the person repeated. "When you left for Tokyo under assault charges, the rumors here were...bad. But I had time to think over the last few days. You came home like someone who went to war and came back with comrades. Someone who befriended a locally famous model, the student council president of Shujin, the ex-pupil of a worldwide famous artist, and Okumura, couldn't have committed assault without some good reason."

The person paused for a bit, almost comically as they contemplated their next words.

"Or if you did, you're certainly a changed person. The continued rumors aren't doing you any favors, and I suppose...I hoped my apology would make things lighter. Your friends may be going back to Tokyo, but...if you ever need a person to talk to, I'll keep my schedule open."

The Trickster seemed to think about his answer for a while too, before asking, "Ann and Yusuke I understand. How do you know about Haru and Makoto?"

"The blonde delinquent was very loud."

"Oh."

"Well, that was all I wanted to say. Good—"

"Wait..."

The person raised their eyebrow when the Trickster stopped them from leaving.

"Since you're offering me an ear, I think I should extend the same offer to you," the Trickster smiled. Lavenza couldn't tell if it was a sly one, or a kind one. "You look pale and stressed. What's up?"

"Are you serious?" the person laughed disbelievingly.

"As serious as my assault charge," the Trickster grinned, this time his expression very clearly devious in its humor.

The person shook their head. "I don't get you at all."

"So, tell me. What's got you looking so down?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," the person shook their head. "I really need to get going."

"Well, if you're not going to tell me now, we're just going to have to talk about it over some ramen. Or Okonomiyaki. Which do you prefer?"

"Kurusu I don't have time—"

"Okonomiyaki it is. It's only ten minutes away."

There was a tense silence before the person sighed with a sharp smile. "I remember a year ago you were this mop-haired brat who wouldn't say a word to anyone. When did you get so..."

"Charming? Kind? Gutsy?" the Trickster prodded.

"I was going with 'more annoying' but sure. Just because we're going to get food doesn't mean I'm going to spill my life story for you to hear, got that?"

"Don't worry, I don't need the whole story. I'll just need the name of the person causing you trouble," the Trickster winked.

"Oh,don't tell me you're going to get another charge of assault on your record just because of me. Or wait! I heard about the Phantom Thief thing back in Tokyo. You give a name, they give that person a change of heart. Don't tell me you're a Phan-Boy."

"Ah! The fact you know about the Phan-Site is more than enough to say you're hypocritical."

Lavenza watched the two walk away, shaking her head. As she headed back to the Velvet Room, she realized she was smiling.

Whichever face the Trickster decided to use, whichever mask he decided to don, his goals and actions remain very clear.

In the back of her mind, "Caroline" and "Justine" remained contentedly silent.


End file.
